Someone on Mark's Side
by Tie-B
Summary: Mark loses his temper and breaks some of Randy's ribs. Tim and Jill decide to stop his karate lessons. Read and please review.
1. Default Chapter

Someone on Mark's Side  
by Tie-B  
  
Chapter I  
---  
  
Disclaimer: None of the characters here are my property. This is a fanfic after all. Please don't sue.  
  
This is my first Home Improvement Fanfic. I'm not going into any of the character's POV because I'm trying to improve my third person writing so you might catch me subconsciously crossing the line and hopping right back. Please Read and Review.  
  
---  
  
Mark stomped into his room, slamming the door shut behind him. He was fuming mad. He was thirteen years old and still his older brothers won't stop picking on him.  
  
He sat on his bed, clutching his jaw. The pain was so intense that it felt numb, but it was nothing compared to the pain from the verbal beating he took from his older brothers. He couldn't even recount what happened. All he remembered was going berserk after Brad and Randy wouldn't stop mocking him. Mark hit Randy square in the chest with a straight punch, sending him crippling down on the floor. It was definitely easy hitting someone smaller. Brad was harder though. The eldest of the Taylor boys was definitely well built and had the reflexes to boot. Out of five attempts, Mark only got in two hits, and Brad didn't even stagger. Before Mark even saw it, Brad caught him with an uppercut to the jaw and right about that time, Mom and Dad walked in and broke up the brawl.  
  
Mark was pretty sure his parents were talking to his brothers right now. It won't be long until the come up to his room and talk to hi - "Mark?" Dad, "Tim the Toolman" Taylor was knocking on his door, "Mark, open the door. I just want to talk to you."  
  
Mark decided to ignore his Dad. Of all the people in the world, the Toolman wasn't really one who would probably understand his situation right now. Brad and Randy practically inherited the torture chromosome, as Al Borland would call it, from the Toolman himself. As the pain in his jaw subsided, Mark started to open and close his mouth to check if anything was broken.   
  
Outside, Tim was still trying to take things in. This definitely wasn't the first time Brad and Randy picked on Mark, in fact, he'd lost count at how many times that already happened. This was however the first where Mark actually used brute force on them. Maybe Brad and Randy finally crossed the line this time? Maybe. The only way to really know was to talk to Mark.  
  
"Mark! Open the door or I'll go get the Binford 6100 Chainsaw!"  
  
Mark found the joke more annoying than amusing. "Dad, the door's ope- OW!" Mark found out that talking made his jaw hurt. The hurting made Mark want to make Brad pay. When Tim opened the door, Mark heard his Mom, Jill reprimanding Brad and Randy. Mark thought it was only right; after all, they were the ones who started this whole mess. They always have to make fun of everything he thinks of, says and does.  
  
Tim stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He sighed and just stood there for a moment looking at Mark, who was avoiding eye contact. Eventually, Tim sat down on the bed beside Mark, who just shifted in his seat to turn his back on Tim.  
  
"Look, Mark," Tim started, speaking in a soft tone. "You know, your Mom and I didn't sign you up for karate for you to use what you've learned there on your brothers."  
  
Mark sneered, "What would you have wanted me to do?! Run to you so we can get back at them like I used to when I was seven?! No thanks dad! I think I can handle them on my own now."  
  
"Oh, so you call getting an uppercut in the jaw, being able to handle things?!"  
  
"Why not?! You handle Tool Time perfectly despite all your trips to the hospital!"  
  
"You're missing the point. You're supposed to be using karate to defend yourse-"  
  
"I WAS defending myself back there! They're always making fun of me! They've been doing it for so much of my life that I've learned to hide how hurt I really am!" Mark interrupted defensively. Tears were beginning to well up in his eyes. "Heh. The only times Brad and Randy aren't picking on me are when they're going at each other like last week when Brad did that Hey Yo! article . . ." he added as an afterthought.  
  
Mark's room was silent for a moment. There was a sniffle from Mark. He was trying not to cry. Tim drew closer and put his arm around his youngest son, who was trembling a little. Tim started to speak.  
  
"I'm sorry, but your mom and I have decided to stop letting you take those karate lessons until she . . . err we feel you're more responsible . . . " Tim trailed off.  
  
Mark's eyes widened in shock. "WHAT?!" If there was a sharp pain through his jaw because of the sudden movement, he didn't seem to feel it. Mark began to protest, "No Dad! You can't! It's one of the few things I'm good at!" Mark couldn't hold back his tears anymore. They were running down his face.  
  
"Yeah, you're good at it alright - Who knows how many of Randy's ribs you've broken with that punch! God, Mark you practically knocked him out back there! You're mom's calling the hospital right now to get him some x-rays! Randy has enough health problems as it is and you're not helping. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid your mom is right. You'll have to learn when to use your karate before we let you take more lessons."  
  
The Toolman got up and headed for the door. Mark gave his pleading one more try, "Please dad, don't do this. I . . . I promise not to hit Brad or Randy again!" but it didn't work.  
  
"I'm sorry Mark." Tim finally said before closing the door, leaving Mark alone inside to think of what he's done.   
  
Mark collapsed on his bed crying. It didn't seem fair. He was the one who had been picked on for years. He was the one always being called a dork. He was the one always overshadowed by athletic Brad and smart and witty Randy. Now, here he was, for the first time standing up for himself and he gets punished for doing so.  
  
"It's not fair," he said to himself. "Why isn't there anyone on MY side?"  
  
--- 


	2. Maybe It's Guilt?

Someone on Mark's Side  
by Tie-B  
  
Chapter II  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Home Improvement characters.  
  
Many thanks to http://www.hiarchive.co.uk. I couldn't have written the flashback parts accurately without their comprehensive scripts.  
  
---  
  
That night, Mark was tossing and turning in his sleep. His memories were playing back in his head.  
  
He saw the conversation he and his Dad had back when Brad got that strange haircut. *  
  
"Ice cold pop for my favorite son" Tim said as he handed the drink to Mark who was coming out from under the hot rod.  
  
"I'm your favorite son?" Mark asked.   
  
"Well, You're my last hope," Tim answered, "My one son looks like a sumo wrestler and the other one is in there putting moves on his mother."  
  
"Dad, I hope you'll never get mad at me like you did at Brad . . ."  
  
The events fast-forwarded to last week, when Brad and Randy were fighting about that Hey Yo! article Brad wrote. **  
  
Mark was walking towards the fridge with a copy of Brad's Hey Yo! article. "Mind if put Brad's article on the refrigerator?"  
  
Jill was surprised by Mark's brotherly gesture. "No, I think that's so sweet that you're so proud of him."   
  
"Actually, I'm doing it to annoy Randy. See, the more they fight, the less they rag on me," Mark explained. Jill wasn't really smiling anymore.  
  
Mark couldn't remember whether he really was doing it to annoy Randy, or he was really proud of Brad or he just wanted to show he was on Brad's side in hopes that Brad would side with him someday.  
  
Then, he saw yesterday's incident.  
  
"Heh. Dark clothes again? What is with you?" Brad's voice rang in his head.  
  
"I just like dark colors, okay?" he replied, annoyed.  
  
"Dork and dark do sound alike," came Randy's voice, followed by laughter from both Brad and Randy.  
  
Normally, Mark would have let it slide. He would have thrown it away to be forgotten in some emotional closet. This time however, it was different. The closet felt full. All those years of torture of being picked on were about ready to burst out. This time it wouldn't slide.  
  
"Lay off! I don't tell you guys what to wear," Mark shot back.  
  
Fast as ever came Randy's reply, "Maybe that has something to do with the fact that we've got a life and you don't Mark."  
  
Randy went up to look up at Mark's face when he said that, and that's when Mark snapped and gave him that punch.  
  
Brad was startled by the sound of Randy hitting the floor.   
  
"Mark! What's gotten into you?!" he yelled as he got up from the couch and headed towards his younger brother's aid. Mark wondered to himself if there ever was a time Brad helped him out like he was doing to Randy right now. Never. Mark could make out several different occasions where Brad helped Randy, but none of a time where Brad helped him, the youngest out.  
  
Mark decided that his oldest brother deserved a kick for that. And that's exactly what he gave him. At least he tried to give him. As Brad was about to kneel down to try and help Randy up, he sensed Mark's movement and blocked Mark's right foot, keeping it from hitting his chest. He didn't see the left one coming though, and it hit him in the shoulder.  
  
Normally, a kick with the force Mark put into it would have knocked a regular kid staggering sideways. Too bad for Mark, Brad wasn't a regular kid. He didn't even seem to budge. Aside from being well built from all his soccer, Brad was also four years older. It would take twice the force to be able to actually hurt him bad.  
  
Mark was serious about beating them both up. The kick made Brad realize that. Not wanting to end up like Randy, he got up and parried Mark's backhand. Mark's next punch would have landed on his chest, but Brad was able to turn to the side to make it land on the side of his shoulder.  
  
"You're going too far Mark..." Brad said through clenched teeth.  
  
"No! I'm just giving you what you deserve!" Mark seemed to be full only of anger as he threw his next punch.  
  
Brad just ducked under it and retaliated with an uppercut.  
  
Mark could have sworn he heard something crack. Maybe it was his chin or maybe it was Brad's knuckles. The pain shot from he point of impact, and through his teeth like a bolt of lightning.   
  
Tim and Jill walked into the room.  
  
"Mark, wake up. Time for school!"  
  
Tim's voice knocked Mark out of his dream. Sluggishly, he got up and headed for the showers, grumbling.  
  
---  
  
Mark avoided his brothers that day. Before leaving the house Jill explained to him that Randy had a broken rib and was still at the hospital. Maybe it was guilt, but he couldn't look at his mom straight in the eyes. Mark also caught the bus to school instead of riding with Brad.   
  
As his teachers droned on and on about the lessons, Mark spent most of his time at school thinking things over.  
  
He thought about going to Randy later to say sorry, but he decided against it. He really wanted to, but he just couldn't swallow his pride. He wanted Randy to feel sorry for all those years of teasing and mocking. Besides, if he went there, it's either Randy would just ignore him or poke more fun at him.   
  
He also thought about his next karate belt, which was blue. He was supposed to get promoted this weekend, but that didn't sound possible now, not after what he did. He wondered how far behind in lessons he would be if he ever got back to karate. At the rate he's going, all his classmates would already have their black belts.  
  
"Utterly depressing," Mark mumbled to himself as he slumped down his desk. His head made quite an audible thudding sound as it hit his desk.  
  
Mark rested in that position for quite a while until he felt uneasy. When he tilted his head up a bit, everyone in the classroom was staring at him.  
  
"Mark Taylor, is there something wrong?" his Algebra teacher asked.  
  
"Ummm... No ma'am. It's nothing..." Mark lied to himself. No karate isn't what he would dismiss as "nothing". Sending one of his brothers to the hospital with a punch wasn't "nothing" either.  
  
"Well, I'd appreciate it if you do not bang your head on your table again. It's disrupting my class," snorted the teacher. She smiled, amused at her own wit before droning on about perfect square trinomials again.  
  
Mark didn't listen to the lesson, or any of the other lessons by the other teachers. All he could think about was what he did.  
  
He got revenge on Randy, but the price of that was something he really liked doing.  
  
He thought that getting even would make him feel better. In some small way, it did.  
  
What Mark couldn't figure out was why something so good could feel so bad at the same time.  
  
---  
  
Mark had finished his lunch and was already at his locker, gathering up his stuff for the next class, which was English. As he pulled out the novel he was writing his report about, he saw another person he wanted to avoid that day.  
  
Lauren, Randy's girlfriend was coming down the hall. And she was heading towards Mark.  
  
Mark only noticed that his big fat history textbook fell out of his locker when it hit his foot.  
  
"OW!"  
  
Swiftly, he bent down to pick it up. He wanted to avoid Lauren after what he did to her boyfriend. He was ready to put the book back and make a dash out of the hall, but he was too late.  
  
"Hi Mark," came Lauren's voice. She didn't sound mad, but Mark was still too afraid to look her in the eye. It was guilt again.  
  
"Umm... Hi Lauren," he replied, scratching he back of his head, looking at the floor instead of Lauren.  
  
Mark was expecting her to give him a big slap in the face. He hoped that it might relieve the guilt a bit. He just stood there waiting for a few seconds.   
  
But the slap didn't come.  
  
Maybe she hadn't heard? No, that was impossible. Randy would have phoned her while he was at the hospital last night. Maybe he was unconscious and couldn't call her? No, not possible either. He would have recovered by then. Why wasn't Lauren ripping him to shreds right now? Mark was confused more than ever.  
  
"Mark, are you okay?" Mark caught a glimpse of Lauren's smile. It was a normal smile, not one you'd find on a sadistic killer. That eased him a little bit.  
  
"I guess so..."  
  
"Don't worry. I'm not mad about what you did to Randy," Lauren reassured him, seeing that Mark was really down and stressed out.  
  
"I just want you to come with me to the hos-" Lauren was interrupted in mid-sentence by another student being slammed into the locker between her and Mark by another student clad in a black leather jacket.  
  
Both Mark and Lauren knew that jacket as well as the guy wearing it. It was Jason, Brad's obnoxious friend.  
  
The other guy, neither of them knew. Mark had seen him around a few times since last week because his locker was right across Mark's. He figured it was someone new who had just transferred from somewhere.  
  
Lauren let out a small yelp as Jason pulled the other guy back at the shirt only to slam him again the locker. Whoever that guy was, Jason sure was ticked off at him. Mark and Lauren backed off from the chaos in opposite directions.  
  
  
---  
  
  
* & ** events from the actual series. 


	3. The Other Karate Kid

Someone on Mark's Side  
by Tie-B  
  
Chapter III  
  
Disclaimer: Aside from the fictional character Dylan, I don't own anything in this fic.   
  
Many thanks to http://www.hiarchive.co.uk. I couldn't have written the flashback parts accurately without their comprehensive scripts.  
  
---  
  
The hall was starting to get crowded by people stopping by to watch the fight.  
  
Mark was both staring at and slowly backing away from Jason and the guy he was holding by the collar. Lauren was doing the same. Mark had seen Jason mad before, but never this mad. Mark couldn't see anything but rage in his eyes. He felt sorry for the other guy, who was definitely toast.  
  
As Jason pushed his victim up against the locker for a third time, Mark turned to the guy beside him and quietly asked, "What's Jason's problem?"  
  
The guy just shrugged. He probably didn't know anything about what was happening and just stopped by to watch someone get pummeled. A senior behind Mark answered instead. "The new kid spilled info to the girl Jason's been hitting on about Jason's little secret. She avoided Jason after that."  
  
Secret? Mark knew nothing about that. He looked back at the fight wondering what that might be. Jason was still holding on to the new kid's collar with his left hand, and was ready to drive his big right fist into the guy's face.  
  
That's when Mark saw something wrong with the picture before him.   
  
The new kid wasn't scared at all. He wasn't even struggling. In fact, he seemed pretty smug about Jason beating him up.  
  
Why?  
  
Jason threw his punch. And Mark almost missed his answer.   
  
With a quick swipe of his right hand, the new kid grabbed Jason's punching hand and stopped it inches before hitting his face. Jason didn't even have time to react. He just felt all the air from his diaphragm leave as a punch landed on his stomach.  
  
Lauren squeezed through the crowd and got to her boyfriend's younger brother. "Mark!"  
  
No reply. Mark's eyes were fixed at the scene. To Lauren, he looked like a zombie who just found a lunch. The dark clothes probably had something to do with it. She just stared at him for a while, waiting for a response or something.  
  
Still nothing from Mark, but Lauren heard the sound of someone crashing into the lockers and hitting the floor. It was followed by a small cheer from some of the crowd and then, Mark's voice.  
  
"Woah! Did you see that?!"  
  
Lauren couldn't help but giggle at the abrupt change in Mark's face. It went from zombie to happy little puppy in a split second.  
  
"What that other guy did . . . did you see it?!"  
  
Before Lauren could answer Mark's question, the crowd of spectators in the hall parted like a wave as Lakeside's principal was stomped down to the scene of the fight. Jason froze as soon as he noticed the crowd's sudden silence and the principal's aura of authority. In contrast, Jason's opponent was calm even as the principal's menacing glare looked upon the both of them.   
  
The principal was about to scream at them but he was interrupted by the bell that signaled the end of lunch.   
  
"Alright everyone, back to your respective classrooms." At his command, everyone shuffled out.   
  
"I'll talk to you later after school Mark," Lauren whispered before heading down to Science class, but Mark was pretty insistent on talking now despite the principal.  
  
"Lauren! That was karate! That other kid knew karate! He was doing stuff I've seen people with higher belts..."   
  
"Later!" Lauren stole a quick glance at the principal who was reprimanding the two fighters to remind Mark that they have to go back to class.  
  
"Oh, alright..."  
  
As Mark headed for his English class, he didn't even wonder what Lauren wasn't able to tell him before Jason interrupted them's fight. He kept thinking about getting to know that karate kid who beat Jason up. The way Mark saw it, if he were to take karate lessons from him, then he would be able to save his pride and not get away with beating up his brothers without apologizing, and still improve his karate.   
  
---  
  
Mark was back to his locker after class. He took out some of his books he needed to bring home in order to do his homework. There were a lot of them. The last one wouldn't even fit in his backpack.  
  
As Mark struggled to cram everything in his pack, he looked at the locker across his. He was hoping the guy who beat Jason up to drop by there so Mark could talk to him, but he was probably in detention right now.  
  
Mark pulled out the rolled up copy of the school paper from his bag to make room for his Algebra book. Lauren was nowhere in sight, so he decided to just read the paper while waiting.   
  
On the front page was another one of Randy's environment articles. Mark skipped it. He never really found Randy's articles on vegetables and the environment interesting. He liked the articles where Randy would rant endlessly about things he doesn't like though. Mark skipped the next page, and the next page, and the next few pages. Nothing really caught his interest there. The next page had some movie reviews. Mark loved watching movies enough to make him read the reviews, but he skipped reading those about the movies he hasn't seen yet to avoid potential spoilers.  
  
On the next page, Mark stumbled on an advertisement for the school's new online advice column. Mark had heard about it before. The school secretly picked out some students and teachers to run a website where students can send in their questions, ramblings or problems. The team of "Net Angels" as they call themselves, would then give the senders advice on what to do. They also post a few of the questions and their corresponding answers online, under anonymous names of course, in order to protect the privacy of the senders, just like a real magazine advice column. Mark thought it was a vain effort to help students wit their troubles, but for a fleeting moment, the thought of writing to the Net Angels about his problem with his family crossed his mind.  
  
Lauren came down the hall. Mark rolled the paper back up when he saw her coming.  
  
"Hey Mark," she greeted, "Brad and I are gonna go down to the hospital and visit Randy. Would you like to come with us?"  
  
Mark hesitated if he should. He knew that if he went there, Randy would either just ignore him or poke fun at him because he was angry. Mark wanted to avoid Brad too. Besides, Mark didn't need to apologize now anyway because he already found an alternative way to learn karate. They deserved what they got for always picking on him.   
  
On the other hand, Mark still felt guilty. As much as he thought he hated Brad and Randy's guts, the part of him that reminded him that they were his brothers wanted to apologize.   
  
"No," Mark decided. Stomaching his guilt was a small price to pay in order to savor his moment of sweet retribution.  
  
Lauren was surprised by Mark's insensitivity. "What? Why? I mean, your brother is in the hospital because of you and you don't even care?"  
  
"Well," Mark said, showing Lauren is bulging backpack, "for starters, I've got lots of homework..."   
  
Lauren clearly wasn't accepting such a lame excuse.   
  
"Besides, I'd probably just get between you and Randy's sweet time."  
  
If Randy made a joke like that, Lauren would have laughed. Too bad for Mark, he wasn't Randy.  
  
"It's not about us Mark!" Lauren yelled, "It's about you and him. You're brothers. You shouldn't be fighting like that! I just want you to come with me so you can patch things up!"  
  
"Well, you can forget it!" Mark yelled back at the older girl. "I'm not apologizing the them. They never apologized to me when they picked on me! Why should I?! Damnit Lauren, THEY DON'T CARE ABOUT ME!" Mark sighed. He didn't mean to yell at Lauren like that, but it did let out some of his stress. "Why should I care about them?" Mark implored her in a softer tone now.  
  
Lauren had no answer to that. As Mark turned away and started to leave, she knew she couldn't do anything for him. She just had to go to the source of the problem: Brad and Randy.  
  
---  
  
Lauren exited the school and she saw Brad waiting for her in his car. Brad rolled down the window a bit.  
  
"Hey Lauren, are you ready?"  
  
Lauren made a disappointed sigh. "Yeah. I am. Thanks for giving me a ride Brad."  
  
Brad opened the passenger seat door and gave Lauren a smile. "It's nothing really. I was going to go down there myself to visit Randy. By the way, what took you so long?"  
  
"I tried to convince Mark to come with us to the hospital," she explained, "He didn't want to go."  
  
"Oh," was Brad's flat reaction. It was followed by a long period of silence.  
  
---  
  
Mark took a walk home. He had lots of time to think. He'd usually go to karate class this time, but that wasn't the case.   
  
He thought of the obvious. He shouldn't have yelled at Lauren like that. The yelling part was bad, but the things he blurted out were worse. Now she's probably going to tell Randy what he thinks about them. They're going to think that he was too sensitive and couldn't take a bunch of jokes.  
  
Maybe it was true? Mark shook his head and dismissed the thought. He wasn't the problem. He wasn't too sensitive. Brad and Randy were just too insensitive.  
  
Mark remembered the time when he saved Randy from being beat up at that shoe store*. Randy didn't even thank him for that.  
  
"That was amazing. It was like I was someone else back there," Mark excitedly told his older brother.  
  
"Yeah, and all those times we wanted you to be someone else, there was... NOTHING!" Randy replied.  
  
That hurt Mark inside. He saved his brother's life and he doesn't even get thanked for it. Would it kill Randy to appreciate him even for just once?  
  
Then there was that time Tim grounded Mark from using the phone for three weeks. * Mark felt so oppressed, but Brad, Randy and even his own dad didn't fail to add insult to injury.  
  
"Angela's probably married by now," Brad exclaimed. His mom was using the only phone line in the house back then.  
  
"By the time I get to use the phone, all my friends will be in their retirement home," Mark added. Tim taunted Mark with a fake bawl.  
  
"Mark, quit exaggerating," said Randy, "You don't have any friends."  
  
With Jill limiting all their phone time to forty-five minutes, Mark thought that he and his brothers were on the same side during this incident. He was wrong.  
  
Nobody ever really sided with him. Nobody.  
  
Mark began to fill himself with hate and angst. His guilt slowly drained out of him.   
  
As he walked down the sidewalk, he angrily side kicked a garbage can, knocking it over. Its contents spilled ad made a huge mess.  
  
---  
  
"No way! You mean you saw the whole fight between Jason and that freshman?!" Brad exclaimed in disbelief.  
  
"What fight? What freshman?" Randy was confused. He hadn't heard of the fight yet.  
  
Lauren tried to keep up with all the questions. "Yeah. Sort of. Mark and I were both there. He saw more of it than I did."  
  
"So what happened? Did Jason beat the kid up?"  
  
"It wasn't just a kid Randy. It was Dylan Hunter."  
  
"You know him?" Lauren asked.  
  
"I don't know him personally. I'd rather stay away from him. He's dangerous. They say he got booted out of his old school for nearly killing someone in a fight. I even heard that he actually keeps nun chucks in his locker."  
  
Brad's warning summoned a moment of silence to the room. Randy's extra deep breaths were audible. He'd been breathing like that ever since he came out of the emergency room. The doctors said it was supposed to help keep his lungs from collapsing, and after Randy's "cancer" incident, he wasn't taking any chances, even though every breath had a slight hint of pain.  
  
"So Lauren," Randy broke the silence, "will you be writing about that on the paper?"  
  
Lauren shook her head, "After what Brad said? Forget it. Besides, I don't really like writing about fights. They all seem so pointless."  
  
Brad took a glance at his watch. 6:00 PM. He got up and picked up his bag. "Look guys, I have to go now. I still have a report to finish." He went over to the bed and messed up his little brother's hair. "I'll just drop by here tomorrow Randy buddy."  
  
Brad was already about to open the door, but Lauren stopped him.  
  
"Wait!"  
  
Brad looked over his shoulder at Lauren with raised eyebrows.  
  
Lauren was a bit hesitant to talk about it. She felt she had no right to interfere, but right now, she felt that she was the only one who could fix the broken relationship between the two brothers and their younger sibling. "We need to talk..."   
  
Lauren's face was serious. Brad felt he already knew what she wanted to say. Being the big brother of the family, he'd been wanting to talk to Randy about it too; only he couldn't really do it in front of Lauren because it was something between the three of them. Looks like there was no avoiding it now. Brad walked back to his chair and sat down.  
  
Randy never thought that he would feel so left out for missing just one day of school. "So what's this about?" he asked.  
  
"Mark." Brad and Lauren grimly answered in unison.  
  
---  
  
Mark finished his History homework and slammed his book shut. That was the last piece of homework he had to do for the day. He stuffed everything back in his backpack so he wouldn't forget anything in the morning.  
  
Mark checked his wall clock. It was 7:00 PM. Brad still wasn't home yet. He was probably busy talking to his favorite brother in the hospital. Tim and Jill left for the hospital half an hour ago to check up on Randy too. They didn't pass up the chance to try to get him to go with them though.   
  
Mark used the homework excuse again. They saw though it and tried to talk to him. Mark just poured out his hate.  
  
"He deserved that punch! He deserves to be there!" Mark shot.  
  
Jill was frustrated by her son's insubordination. "How could you say that? He's your brother!"  
  
"Well, he never really acted like one to me!"  
  
Jill was stunned. She never knew Mark felt that way.   
  
Tim came in Mark's room. "Honey, let's go. Randy's waiting."  
  
Jill decided that she needed more time to think. She put off straightening Mark out for tomorrow and headed with Tim for the garage.  
  
The words still rang in Mark's head.   
  
"He's your brother!"  
  
Mark's hate subsided. Guilt began to fill the empty spaces in him making his stomach turn.  
  
He still couldn't figure out why he felt so awful after finally tasting his long overdue revenge. Mark wondered if he would be feeling as awful as he was if he just let the harsh words that started this mess slide.   
  
No, he wouldn't. He would just feel the same way as he used to. A pincushion. It felt a lot better than feeling guilty, but still, it wasn't what Mark wanted. He wanted to feel appreciated, loved by his brothers.   
  
After putting all his homework in his bag, Mark remembered the school paper, and the thought he had in school a while ago crossed his mind again.  
  
Maybe they could actually help? There was only one way to find out and he really had nothing left to lose.   
  
Mark strolled down the stairs and headed for his mom's computer. Being his mom's computer consultant, he knew how to operate the thing and he knew it had access to the internet.  
  
He opened the browser and punched in the Net Angel URL on the keyboard.  
  
---  
* events from the actual series. 


	4. Black Shirt, Black Soul

Someone on Mark's Side  
by Tie-B  
  
Chapter IV  
  
Disclaimer: Aside from the fictional character Dylan, I don't own anything in this fic.   
  
I apologize for the lack of updates. I had an art contest entry to finish and a test to study for.   
  
---  
  
Mark woke up the next day feeling a bit dazed. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to recall last night's events.   
  
He remembered writing about his whole problem to the Net Angels website as he sat up on his bed. For a moment, he wondered if it really was such a good idea.  
  
If his problem was posted online, there was no doubt that Brad and Randy would know it was he who sent it even though the Net Angels changed names to protect the privacy of the students. That would make Mark look really desperate. That would mean more verbal torture.  
  
Big mistake.  
  
Regret coursed through Mark for sending that entry. He can't do anything about it now. He could only hope that his submission wouldn't be posted online or that Brad and Randy wouldn't care to drop by the site.  
  
Mark paused his worrying and looked at his wall clock and got up to get ready for school.  
  
Maybe he could catch a chat with the guy who beat up Jason later.  
  
---  
  
Downstairs, Brad was already having a breakfast prepared by Jill. The meal wasn't so bad this time. The tofu actually tasted like tofu. Too bad Randy wasn't around. He would have loved it.   
  
Tim wasn't there either. He went off early to look for some more parts for another one of his Tool Time gadgets.  
  
Brad usually left early too; just to avoid his mom's cooking. That wasn't the case this time. He was waiting for Mark. After what Lauren told him and Randy yesterday, Brad wanted to have a talk with his brother, to patch things up, while giving him a ride to school.   
  
Brad could hear the shower running upstairs. It won't be long until Mark comes down.   
  
Over the counter, Jill saw that Brad was actually eating. "So, do you like my new and improved Tuna Surprise?"  
  
Brad froze like a statue in shock.  
  
"TUNA?!"  
  
Jill gave him a puzzled look.  
  
"Mom, I actually thought it was tofu!"  
  
Jill couldn't decide whether that was a compliment or not so she just decided to laugh at the remark. "Well, that's why it's called Tuna Surprise."  
  
Brad laughed as well. Then he heard the shower stop. Mark would be coming down soon. He quickly grabbed a table napkin and to wipe his mouth and got up.  
  
Jill saw him get up and reminded him of Randy's request. "Oh, Brad, before you leave, could you get the laptop and Randy's box of diskettes from downstairs and bring it over to him on your way back? He says he needs it to write his article."  
  
"Well, the laptop's already in the car. I'm going to go get the disks right now. If Mark comes down, tell him to stay put. I'm going to give him a ride to school."  
  
Brad rushed down into the basement to get Randy's box of disks. As he opened the door to Randy's room, he realized he had to find them first. It wasn't going to be easy considering that he rarely visits the place. It almost felt like he entered a hidden door to a part of the house he'd never seen before.  
  
Brad pulled open younger brother's desk drawer. Aside from a lot of pictures of Randy and Lauren, there was nothing. Brad sighed. This was definitely going to take some time.  
  
---  
  
"Good morning Mark," Jill tried to greet as Mark came down the stairs.  
  
No reply. He didn't even try to look at her. Jill concluded he was still upset about those karate lessons.  
  
Sure Brad and Randy were jerks when it comes to treating Mark, but that's no reason for him to try and beat them up. Mark was supposed to use his karate only to defend himself, not to exact revenge on his brothers. If he wasn't going to use the skill properly, then it was Jill's responsibility as Mark's mother to make sure Mark realizes his mistake.   
  
And as Brad's mother, she had to relay a message. "Look, Mark, Brad told me to tell you to wait for him. He's going to drive you to school today."  
  
Mark stopped, but didn't turn around. "Forget it. I still remember that time I was still upstairs and they told you I was already in the school bus. Heck, Randy even took my allowance from you saying he was going to give it to me." There was a short pause as the memory sparked more hatred within Mark. "I'm outta here. Why don't you tell him I'm still upstairs so he'll know how it feels?"  
  
Mark walked out the front door before Jill could say anything in response.  
  
As Jill went over to hey study, she remembered her conversation with Mark yesterday, if you can even call that a conversation...  
  
"How could you say that? He's your brother!"  
  
"Well, he never really acted like one to me!"  
  
Jill could remember the scorn in Mark's voice. It was the kind found only in the painful truth.   
  
The sound of footsteps thundered up the staircase and Brad emerged from the basement holding Randy's disk box.  
  
"Brad, you're too late. Mark already left," Jill informed him.  
  
"What? I was supposed to give him a ride to school."  
  
Jill sat down on her chair. "Well, he left only a couple of minutes ago. You should be able to catch up to him."  
  
"Alright. Thanks mom." With that, Brad bolted for the garage.  
  
Jill slumped down in her chair. Brad was planning to give Mark a ride to school. Who was Mark to say that his brothers didn't care about him? In the corner of her eye, Jill saw the teen psychology book she bought for school sometime back. She never did get to use it much on Brad or Randy. Maybe it would prove useful for Mark's case. Jill reached for it and pulled it out from underneath two other books and opened it to the table of contents.  
  
---  
  
Mark walked down the sidewalk to school again. He was pretty sure Brad wanted to drive him to school so he could talk to him, maybe even apologize. Mark's head was denying any idea why he decided to spit Brad's offer right back into his mom's face. His heart on the other hand, knew that Mark was enjoying his retribution and he wanted to make it last as long as possible.  
  
Yes, that was it. As Mark continued to hate, his guilt continued to fade away. The less his guilt, the better he felt.  
  
In the distance behind him, Mark heard the familiar purring of a car. He reached the end of the block and made a turn. Mark dismissed the car as unimportant until he recognized the engine's sound. Mark's heart skipped a beat.   
  
It was the Nomad! Brad was about to come around the corner!  
  
There was no outrunning a car. Desperate to escape a talk with his older brother, Mark's eyes darted around, searching for a place to hide.   
  
Tree. Dumpster. Lamppost. Seven Eleven?  
  
Perfect!  
  
Mark made a dash for the store, swinging the glass doors wide open as he went in.  
  
Mark put on a face that made him look like he had to go bad. "I need to use the restroom," he hastily told the clerk, who just nodded and pointed to door at the back. Wasting no time, Mark made his path behind a shelf, just in case Brad would pass by, and to the restroom.  
  
He didn't really need to take a leak. The truth was, Mark forgot to take a drink before going to bed and he was very thirsty. He was very impressed by his acting when he told the clerk that he had to go. For a moment, Mark considered forgetting about directing and just concentrate on acting, but decided against it.  
  
He wanted a position that had control of the camera, just like the position he was in now.  
  
Mom and Dad could cancel his karate, but in time, he could learn more from Jason's little nemesis. Brad and Randy could make fun of him, but he'd just beat them up and make them regret it. The ability of defiance made Mark feel powerful, in control and free.  
  
Mark smiled at himself in the bathroom mirror.   
  
He didn't notice that his soul was slowly turning as black as his clothes.  
  
---  
  
"Hey, Ronnie. Have you seen Mark?"  
  
Ronnie turned his head to the voice. It was Brad. If Ronnie was surprised, he didn't show it through his impenetrable poker face.   
  
"No."  
  
Ronnie had a certain buzz to him that made Brad feel a bit uneasy. Brad decided to cut this interrogation really short. As turned he to walk away, he was still able to hear Ronnie mention a few words.  
  
"Since when did you care about him?"  
  
The first words to form in Brad's head were "I" and "don't". He managed to stop his tongue before saying them out loud. And that's when he realized Lauren was right.   
  
Brad had been picking on Mark for so long that it was already something automatic.   
  
Did he really not care about his youngest brother? He cared about Randy. Despite their differences, he and Brad get along pretty well. But what about Mark the annoying dork?  
  
Of course Brad cared. He was his brother too.  
  
But did it show?  
  
No. It didn't.   
  
Maybe it had something to do with their age gap?  
  
No. It had more to do with Brad protecting his own image by trying not to be seen in public with his dorky little bro.   
  
Ronnie's words started to hurt like a soccer ball in the gut.  
  
Brad looked at his watch and found only fifteen more minutes before the first bell. Mark had lots of time to get to school.  
  
---  
  
School was still three blocks away. Mark gulped down the last drop of the cherry Gatorade he bought just before leaving the Seven Eleven. Gatorade, walking to school, beating up his brothers, not apologizing, hiding from Brad and lying to Seven Eleven clerks; Mark never had this much fun in his life before. It felt as good as the adrenaline rush of sparring in karate or even the excitement of flying a plane.   
  
Mark came upon the garbage can he kicked down yesterday. It was set neatly upright again, but it was still the same grime-covered can. A horrible odor assaulted Mark's nostrils as he lifted the lid with the tips of his fingers. He hurled the empty Gatorade bottle inside as quickly as he could and slammed the lid shut.  
  
As Mark turned away, he felt his backpack rub against the filthy trashcan.   
  
"Gross!" was his description as he got a closer look on the stain it left on his bag. It had the same rancid stench as the can's contents.  
  
Mark sent the can tumbling to the ground with another sidekick. The clanging sound echoed through the morning streets. It wasn't going to go unnoticed this time.  
  
"Hey you!" came an unfamiliar voice from behind Mark.  
  
"So, you're the one who's been knocking our can down!"  
  
Mark turned around to see who it was and regretted it immediately. The voice came from a tall man in his early twenties, with messy, sprawling hair and bags under his eyes. He had a really pissed off expression on his face and was carrying a lead pipe.  
  
Behind him were two other guys. Mark estimated one to be about Brad's age, only this was a probably juvenile delinquent. His hair was in spikes and tattoos were all over his arms and even his face.  
  
The other guy was no less intimidating. He reminded Mark a lot of Jason, yet this guy was bald. A cigarette was in his mouth, or at least Mark thought it was a cigarette.   
  
The man with the lead pipe spoke again, "What do you have to say for yourself young man?"  
  
"I...I'm sorry?" Mark managed to stammer, even though he knocked the can over on purpose.  
  
The man wasn't convinced. "I don't think that's good enough kiddo. We're going to have to make you pay for the damages!"  
  
As the man in front took a few steps forward swinging his pipe around, Mark noticed him slightly swaying from side to side. He wasn't sober. The other two were probably the same. That gave Mark a small glimmer of hope that with the right moves, he could come out of this mess alive.   
  
Mark tried to fight his shivering and assumed his fighting stance. This was just like the time Randy got in trouble in the shoe store, only this time, Mark didn't have the element of surprise with him.  
  
Mark continued shivering. He never thought that would make such a huge difference. 


	5. The Defender

Someone on Mark's Side  
by Tie-B  
  
Chapter V  
  
Disclaimer: Aside from the fictional character Dylan, I don't own anything in this fic.   
  
Sorry again for the delay. I had to study for my exams.  
  
---  
  
The shivering wouldn't stop. Mark nearly caught the pipe with his head when the man swung it down. The nervousness prevented Mark from hitting back. The man took another swing, horizontal. Mark shifted his weight to his hind leg in order to dodge the blow. The drunken assailant began to pick up his pace and started mumbling barely recognizable words. Mark dodged three more swings; each one got him more nervous.  
  
This was the last thing Mark needed: A fight on the street, just before school. If he ever got out of this alive, he would be so late for Algebra, his teacher would kill him anyway.  
  
Mark ducked the last high swing. The lead pipe hit the lamppost behind him sending another echo clanging through the streets. For some reason, the sound knocked most of the anxiety out of Mark. Breathing became easier. The trembling subsided enough so that Mark could make a fist.  
  
And he sent that fist straight into the man's eye socket.   
  
Mark got into his fighting stance as the man staggered backwards and fell over. Mark was not going to die. Not today.   
  
Mark walked over to his recovering opponent and kicked the lead pipe away. The man tried to get up with an uppercut, but Mark had the advantage of sobriety and was able to backhand him in the face after dodging the uppercut.  
  
"Argh!" The man screamed as the force sent him sprawling on the floor again. He tried to get up, but his face was greeted by the sole of Mark's shoe.   
  
Seeing their beer buddy in trouble, the two other drunks rushed Mark, screaming as they did. The tattooed man's battle cry was cut short when he ran out of air as Mark's foot planted itself in his stomach.  
  
Mark blocked the bald guy's right hook, but the excess force was strong enough to send him staggering sideways, nearly tripping over the body he put there on the floor earlier. Before Mark could regain his balance, his opponent threw another punch which caught Mark on his left shoulder. It hurt, but not as much as the sidewalk scrapping his elbows as he fell down.  
  
He tried to get up and run, but the guy he knocked down regained consciousness and grabbed on Mark's foot. Inertia sent him plummeting down. Mark kept the sidewalk from smacking into his face with his hands, but they scrapped against the floor as the tattooed man pulled on his foot.  
  
Mark anticipated what was coming and rolled his body to the side. He felt the vibrations on the ground as a foot landed hard on the place he lay a second ago.  
  
Mark gave a hard kick on the tattooed mans shin and got up with a jab to the stomach. Mark was about to give him a front kick in the face but the bald man grabbed him from behind, immobilizing him.  
  
Mark tried to break free, but a punch landed on his stomach. He could feel the cherry Gatorade starting to rise out of his stomach and into his throat, but he managed to keep it down. He then took a bite on his grappler's arm. After all, he was always taught that the entire body could be used as a weapon.   
  
The bald man tried to shake Mark's bite off, but as soon as Mark sensed that he was off balance, Mark lifted him with his legs and used him to catch the next punch the tattooed man threw. The impact caused the bald guy released his grab and roll down the floor, knocking his two other friends off balance.   
  
Mark's shirt was already soaking in his sweat. His elbows, hands and back were all dirty. This had to end now. If the drunken trio regained sobriety, Mark would lose his advantage over them, and he'd be toast.  
  
Mark's eyes darted around again, searching for the lead pipe his opponent used earlier. Maybe it would help get this over with quickly. It couldn't have gone far. Mark could have sworn it had landed a few paces from where he was standing.  
  
Strange. There was nothing but sidewalk. Where could it have gone?  
  
Lost in a brief second of thought, Mark was caught off-guard. He felt the same lightning like pain in his face Brad gave him two nights ago as the bald guy's fist collided with his face. Unlike Brad's uppercut, Mark was pretty sure something was broken this time.   
  
Mark clutched his face as he staggered backwards. A thick liquid ran through his fingers. Blood! His nose was bleeding!  
  
Panic started to race through Mark, and he didn't see the next punch coming until it was too late. He tried to move out of the way, but he was too slow and too late. Mark felt his cheek get crushed under the force and his feet lift off the floor as his body spun around and fell on his side, his entire body's weight crushing his right shoulder and hip.  
  
The pain was no longer on his face, but his entire body as well. Mark struggled to get up, but the pain was too much. He fell on his face after a failed attempt. This was it. Game over.  
  
Mark wondered if Mom and Dad would let him go back to karate lessons if he came out of this beating alive.   
  
Closing his eyes as he waited for his enemies to finish him up, Mark remembered Brad and Randy, his brothers. He wondered if they would have helped him if they were there right now or if they would just point at him and laugh. Mark didn't care if they didn't help. Mark just didn't want to die alone. Like this.  
  
Eyes still closed, Mark felt the footsteps coming closer. He was breathing heavily now, forcing himself not to cry. If he was going to go out alone, he was going to go with dignity. Mark felt the first drunk approach, then the second, and the third.  
  
Then a fourth?  
  
Mark felt a small spark of hope rekindle inside of him as his three assailants turned around to face the newcomer.   
  
It was followed by a loud familiar clang of a lead pipe a split second later, and a thud as a body fell on the ground like a sack of potatoes.  
  
Mark rolled on his chest and opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of his defender. It was him: Jason's little nemesis, the kid who owned the locker across Mark's. He had his backpack on, meaning he was probably on his way to school too.  
  
Mark looked around more and saw that the tattooed man was the unfortunate sap who got thwacked by the lead pipe. From the looks of it, he got hit in the head.  
  
Before the two other drunks could rush him, the kid hurled the lead pipe with deadly accuracy, sending it crashing into the bald guy's knee, causing him to do a nosedive on the sidewalk. A sidekick greeted the last assailant, the same one Mark liked to use a lot, in the gut. The man fell back a few steps, and started vomiting on the sidewalk. Obviously, the kid didn't show much mercy as he sent an axe kick crashing down on the man's head. The man could only grunt in pain as his face hit his own half-digested meal. The kid gave him one more kick in the gut just to make sure he'll stay down long enough.  
  
Mark would have out a sigh of relief, but he was hurting like hell. His unexpected savior came crouching down by his side to examine the damage on inflicted on him.  
  
"You're hurt," he started, stating the obvious, "I need to get you out of here before they can get back up on their feet." The kid offered Mark his hand to help him get up.  
  
Mark wondered why the guy was helping him despite the fact that he seemed smug about beating the crap out of Jason, but he just nodded in agreement and the took offered hand and pulled himself up. "Thanks," he managed to mutter, still a bit shaken up.  
  
"No. Don't thank me. You wouldn't have gotten this hurt if I hadn't took the pipe."  
  
That was a cold reply. Mark tried to argue. He didn't like gratitude being rejected.  
  
"Still, if you hadn't come, they would have done much worse."  
  
Mark tried to walk, but he was still a bit dizzy from the punches in the head and nearly fell. The kid managed to catch him before Mark plummeted like a tree.   
  
"Are you alright? I think we'd better get you to the hospital, uhh..." he trailed off, lacking a name to put at the end of his sentence.  
  
"Mark. Mark Taylor," Mark supplied as he pulled away. "And please, no hospitals. I'm fine, really," he added. It wasn't really convincing with the blood coming out of his nose, but he wanted to avoid the hospital because Randy was there, and so will Brad and his parents later on.   
  
"Mark, you can't go to school in that condition. You should at least take a rest and have those scratches cleaned up or you'll risk infection."  
  
Mark couldn't argue with that. He wanted rest over Algebra anyway.  
  
"Listen, my place is only across the street. I'm going to take you there so we can clean up your wounds. Does that sound okay to you?"  
  
Mark just nodded. It was too far to walk back to the Taylor residence, and he was too battered to attend school. The hospital was a definite no. It wasn't much of a choice.  
  
The kid helped Mark get across the street, making sure he didn't fall over or get smacked by a passing vehicle. Mark couldn't help but feel surprised the kindness shown to him by a person he barely even knew.  
  
Heck, Mark didn't even know his name, so as they reached the front door, he decided to ask.  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
"It's not important." Another cold reply.  
  
"It is to me. You just saved my life back there," Mark insisted.  
  
The kid hesitated a bit before answering. Mark didn't have any idea as to why a thirteen year old would hesitate to tell his name. What harm could it do?  
  
"Fine," he reluctantly surrendered. "It's Dylan Hunter."  
  
---  
  
Brad went through his first class wondering what happened to Mark. He didn't see him at school before the bell. Brad shuddered at the thought of all sorts of trouble he imagined Mark could get in to. He tried to dismiss them all as just his imagination, but then he realized he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if something did happen to Mark, because he could have prevented it all from happening if he was able to give Mark a ride to school.   
  
Thanks to his worrying, Brad didn't even hear the lesson or the homework. He was just snapped out of his trance by the bell that ended the first class.  
  
Brad scurried up to his locker immediately, leaving his friends from soccer wondered why he was in such a hurry to leave.  
  
Brad got his stuff and went to Lauren's locker and waited for her. It wasn't a very long wait. Brad saw her coming down the hall talking to some friends.  
  
"Hey Lauren!" Brad greeted.  
  
"Oh hi Brad," Lauren greeted back. She noticed the urgent look on Brad's face and asked, "What's going on?"  
  
"Lauren, have you seen Mark?"  
  
"You mean he isn't with you? I thought you were supposed to drive him here today?"  
  
"I was, but he left he house this morning before I could tell him. I didn't see him anywhere on the road while I was on my way here."  
  
"Do you think he's in trouble?" Lauren thought out loud.  
  
Brad thought of the possibility again and took a deep breath.  
  
"I hope not."  
  
There was silence from both of them for a few seconds as they both contemplated on what could have happened to Mark.  
  
"Look, Lauren I have to get going. Will you be coming over to the hospital later to visit Randy?"  
  
Lauren managed to smile at the question.  
  
Brad realized it was a very lame thing to ask.  
  
"Never mind. I know the answer. I'll just wait for you outside later," Brad said as he turned away to leave.  
  
"Alright Brad. I'll see you later."  
  
The bell rang as Brad went the hall, slowly disappearing in the crowd. Lauren saw Brad's speedy walk broke into a run just before she turned away to leave.  
  
---  
  
"Ow!" Mark yelped. The antiseptic stung the scratches on his hand like lemon. Dylan had to keep a tight grip on Mark's fingers to keep the hands from closing as he dabbed on some more. Mark took breaths through his teeth, cringing.  
  
"There," Dylan said as he put the cap back on the bottle.  
  
Mark began blowing on his hands. Dylan looked at him with amusement.  
  
"You know, I'd laugh at you right now, but you remind me a lot of myself when I used to do that a few years ago, when-" he stopped his sentence short as if he just remembered something. Mark looked at Dylan, waiting for him to continue.   
  
He didn't. Mark tried to compel him. "When what?"  
  
"Never mind. It's nothing." Before Mark could reply, Dylan changed the topic. "Heh, I think I remember you now. I saw you during the fight yesterday. I didn't recognize you on the street a while ago with all that blood on your face."  
  
Mark was slightly offended. He gave Dylan a weird look and wondered if he really looked that messed up after the fight. Then, he remembered what he saw in the mirror when he was cleaning up. There was a large bruise on his cheek where the punch that knocked him down landed. Yeah, he guessed he did.  
  
"Yeah. That was definitely you at the lockers yesterday. I apologize if I interrupted your talk with your girlfriend..."  
  
The remark made Mark forget about asking Dylan about his unfinished sentence. "Lauren's not my girlfriend!"   
  
"Oh. Sorry. So who was she?"  
  
"She my brother's girlfriend," Mark explained.  
  
Dylan nodded. "Look, you really should get some rest," he said, pointing to his bed. The house had a guest room, but they had better access to medical supplies and bathroom in Dylan's room. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything."  
  
Dylan left and closed the door behind him. Mark lay on the bed and tried to sleep off his weariness, but his eyes couldn't help but wander around the room.  
  
It was pretty simple compared to Mark's place. He decided it was probably due to the fact that Dylan and his family still haven't unpacked most of their other stuff yet as Mark could still see a few moving boxes around.  
  
Among the stuff Dylan had brought out was a small, framed picture of him and his brother. It was on the side table adjacent to his bed. Mark thought it was odd that Dylan was walking alone to school. Where was his older bro?  
  
An even bigger question was, where was the rest of the family? Mark and Dylan were the only people in the house. Mark just assumed it was because Dylan's parents went to work early.  
  
Beside the picture frame were more disturbing items. Anti-depressant pills. Why? Mark couldn't think of anything Dylan would be depressed about. The oriental dagger beside it was also out of place. He noted that the sheath was engraved with Dylan's name. Despite how cool it looked, Mark didn't think it was such a good idea to leave weapons like that lying around near a thirteen year old depressed kid.   
  
Mark's curiosity deepened. The fact that Dylan asked a lot and told nearly nothing about himself didn't help.   
  
The urge to sleep crept over Mark. As Mark turned to a more comfortable position to sleep in, he heard a faint thumping sound from downstairs. The steady beat rang in Mark's head as he slowly drifted off to sleep. 


	6. Karate Improvement

Someone on Mark's Side  
by Tie-B  
  
Chapter VI  
  
Disclaimer: Aside from the fictional character Dylan, I don't own anything in this fic.   
  
---  
  
The nurse came in the door, humming some unknown tune, and gave Randy his lunch: pork chops and some bread. Randy made a face. He didn't really like food you had to kill before eating.  
  
"No thanks," Randy politely refused. He then pointed to himself and said, "I'm not a big fan of slaughtered animals. Vegetarian."  
  
The nurse formed the word, "Oh," with her mouth and nodded. She then took the tray right back out the door.  
  
Randy sighed. With all his schoolwork done, the hospital was a lonely and boring place. He couldn't see how his dad survived frequent trips here. He wondered when Lauren and Brad would drop by so he could have someone to talk to. Heck, he'd even talk to Mark right now if he were given the chance, as long as Mark didn't try to kill him anyway. It was better than nothing.  
  
The same nurse came back a few minutes later with a tray of vegetarian cuisine. Randy thanked her and started digging in as soon as she left.  
  
As Randy chewed on his celery, he thought of the reason he was stuck in the hospital in the first place: Mark, even though he had already given his younger brother much thought during his time in the hospital bed.   
  
Yesterday, Randy concluded that Mark snapped because Randy had made one joke too many. The fact that Mark didn't show up to see him yesterday when Tim and Jill came around got his train of thought running again. Fights that broke out between the three of them brothers didn't usually last long and thus Randy sensed that Mark must really be angry with him. It hurt him emotionally to find out that Mark avoided asking for forgiveness after that punch. It was as if his younger brother just wanted him to rot in that hospital.  
  
Lauren brought it up yesterday. She said Mark seemed to feel oppressed by the two older brothers.  
  
Jill backed up all that Lauren said and added a new point: Mark wasn't just oppressed. Mark felt like he didn't have any big brothers. Mark felt like he was alone.  
  
Alone.  
  
It was such a powerful word. Randy was only alone for a few hours in the hospital each day, but Mark felt lonely his whole life. Brad and Randy only isolated their brother further by always picking on him. Right now, Randy was only experiencing a small fraction of what it was like to be in Mark's shoes and he didn't like it. It was a no brainer why Mark wanted to hit him.   
  
Nobody deserved to be lonely, not even someone as dorky as Mark.   
  
---  
  
Mark woke up feeling rested. He was about to rub his eyes, but he remembered the antiseptic on his hands and decided against it. Mark got up and noticed that the thumping sound downstairs was gone. What was it anyway?  
  
Only the picture was on the table now. Mark could have sworn he remembered seeing a dagger and some pills, but he was so tired back then that maybe it was all just his imagination.  
  
Mark saw that the door was open. No. He didn't imagine the pills and the dagger. Dylan must have gone back up while Mark was asleep and put them somewhere else. Mark thought that it was perfectly natural to hide the fact that you were on medication like that from guests, but he couldn't help wonder that maybe Dylan was hiding something else.  
  
Mark looked around the room for a clock. Nothing. He looked outside the window. It was really bright outside, and Mark guessed it was about noon. He thought about phoning home and telling his mom or dad that he didn't attend school today. Mark got out of the room and looked for Dylan.  
  
The smell of food was in the air. Dylan probably cooked some lunch. Mark wandered through the rooms looking for his host. He found him in a wide room behind a half-open sliding door.  
  
Mark thought leaving a dagger lying around wasn't a good idea, but the room Dylan was in had swords, more daggers, and even sais, shurikens, nun chucks, and several other melee weapons Mark couldn't name on the walls. Dylan was holding his dagger, unsheathed, practicing some kind of martial art form with it. If Mark didn't know any better, he would have labeled Dylan a ninja right now.  
  
Maybe he was? That would explain how he was able to beat up Jason and rescue Mark earlier. Mark shook his head, dismissing the ridiculous thought. No way. Besides, Dylan was definitely Caucasian.  
  
Mark watched as Dylan flowed into different poses, stabbing, blocking and slashing of the form. It definitely put the art in martial art.  
  
Dylan finished the form. It ended with Dylan in standing straight in the center of the room, arms on the side, dagger in his right hand. His back was facing towards Mark.   
  
Mark decided to make his presence known. "Wow! That was so cool."  
  
Dylan turned to face Mark shot back a sarcastic look. "It's not like you don't have any moves of your own."  
  
"What do you mean by that?"  
  
Dylan put the dagger back in the sheath. "I saw some of the moves you pulled a while ago. Karate right? Blue belt?"  
  
Mark shook his head, "Not yet. I'm going to be stuck in violet for a long while."  
  
"Why? You seem ready to go to blue to me."  
  
Mark tried to remember when was the last time he received a complement from anyone. Before he could find an answer, he saw Dylan's mock punch headed towards his face. Mark made an appropriate response: an upper body block.  
  
Dylan smiled. "See what I mean?"  
  
"What are you talking about? Any yellow belt can do that."  
  
"What about this?" Dylan did a half speed kick towards Mark's hip. Mark stepped back into a blocked the kick. Dylan followed up with a backhand as soon as his foot got on the ground, followed by a front kick. Mark was able to block the combination easily, something a yellow belt couldn't do.  
  
The smug expression was once again on Dylan's face. "Come on Mark. Hit back," he said.   
  
It was then when Mark realized it was a game, not a test. He was reluctant to try and hit a smaller person, but he knew Dylan was far from defenseless. Mark lunged with a straight right punch. Dylan didn't block it, but rather pulled it to the side of his hip using his left hand, pulling Mark along. Simultaneously, his right hand sent the dagger's hilt towards Mark's approaching forehead, stopping about an inch or two away.   
  
Mark stared at the hilt a while. "Uhh... Do you think you could put that away first? It's kinda intimidating."  
  
Dylan looked at the dagger in his hand. "You mean this? I've owned it since I was eight. Don't worry. I haven't killed anyone with it yet." As Dylan released his grip on Mark's hand and went to mount the dagger back on the wall, Mark remembered the phone call he had to make.  
  
"Uhh... Hey Dylan, could I use your phone? I need to call home and tell them I missed school today,"   
  
"Sure. It's in the dining room, left door, down the hall," he replied as soon as he put the dagger back on the rack neatly. "Come on. I'll show you."  
  
Dylan guided Mark to the room and handed him the cordless phone. Mark thanked him upon receiving it and dialed home.  
  
The phone rang once, twice, three times. Nobody was answering. His mom probably went to the groceries or something.  
  
Dylan went to the adjacent room, probably the kitchen, and came back with two plates of lunch and laid one on the table in front of Mark.  
  
"Nobody's answering. I'll try my dad," Mark told him.  
  
Mark dialed the number at the Tool Time studio. Two rings later, Al picked up the phone.  
  
"Tool Time, this is Al Borla-"  
  
"Al!" Mark interrupted.  
  
"Who is this? Mark?"  
  
"Yeah. Is my Dad there?"  
  
"No. You just missed him. The paramedics put him on the ambulance just a few minutes ago."  
  
"You mean he's at the hospital?" Mark was curious as to what on earth his dad did this time, but he decided not to ask. He shouldn't use Dylan's phone too long.  
  
"Yes. What would you expect from the Tool Man?"  
  
Mark rolled his eyes. "Okay, thanks. Bye Al."  
  
He hung up the cordless phone with a beep of a button. He looked back at Dylan, who was staring at him.  
  
"Al? Hospital? Taylor? You mean your dad's the Tool Man?"  
  
Mark just sighed and nodded.  
  
"But I thought he only had two sons? The one he brought to the show when Al was gone and the one he built a room in the basement?"  
  
The words hurt Mark as if Dylan stabbed him with his dagger. Dylan sensed it and quickly apologized.  
  
"I'm sorry. I don't really watch the show. My brother used to a lot. He always thought your dad was funny."  
  
Mark knew Dylan didn't really mean to offend him, not after helping and taking care of him after the beating. At least now Mark was learning something about Dylan, or at least his brother.  
  
"It's alright. Where is your brother anyway? I mean, you were alone a while ago. Why didn't he walk with you to school?" Mark thought it was maybe because Dylan's brother was just as bad to him as Brad and Randy were to Mark.  
  
Dylan sat down, hesitant to answer the question. But when the answer came, for a brief moment, Mark's eyes were able to pierce through Dylan's mask.  
  
"He..." Dylan was having trouble with his voice well modulated. "He died a month ago."  
  
It was not the answer Mark expected. "I'm sorry," he immediately apologized. Mark tried to imagine what it would have felt if Brad or Randy died, but obviously, he was on very different terms with his brothers from Dylan and his.  
  
"That's okay. You didn't know." Dylan slumped down and stared at his plate, pretty upset. "God! I miss him," he muttered through his teeth.  
  
That pretty much explained why Dylan had pills. Mark wanted to bring it up, but it would have been rude at that time.  
  
Dylan regained his composture and took a few breaths. He pointed a fork at Mark's plate. "You should eat. It's been an hour past lunch time," he said with his regular smirk. The mask was on again.  
  
Mark remembered how sorrowful his mom was when his grandfather died. She wasn't as depressed as Dylan though. It was either Jill handled the death very well because she was a strong adult or Dylan's bro must have been a really brotherly and cool guy. As Mark ate, he tried to imagine what his life would have been like if his brothers were like Dylan's. Maybe he wouldn't be such a messed up kid.  
  
Halfway through his plate, Mark decided to get his host's mind off the morbid subject. "Hey man, the day I saw you beat up Jason, I've been meaning to ask you..." Mark stopped, but he realized that there was no point in doing so after getting this far. "I was wondering if you could teach me some more karate."  
  
A puzzled look came on Dylan's face. "Why? I thought you were already taking lessons."  
  
Oh no. It dawned on Mark that his question would eventually lead Dylan to finding out about Mark's problem with Brad and Randy. Mark paused, stunned in hesitation.  
  
Dylan waved at Mark's unmoving eyes.   
  
"My parents made me quit taking lessons," Mark admitted, hoping against Dylan's inevitable why. Mark decided to go honest. He only knew Dylan for a very short time, but the kindness and hospitality Mark received from him in that day felt exponentially greater than his own brothers had given him in his life. Lying to Dylan just seemed ungrateful.  
  
Oddly enough, Dylan didn't ask why. In fact, he seemed eager to jump on the opportunity to teach Mark. "I could teach you later," he assured. Pointing to Mark's plate with his fork, he reminded him of his food.  
  
It took Mark a while to process the message. He was still relieved that Dylan didn't ask why Tim and Jill cancelled Mark's lessons. It would have been awkward to tell someone who loved his dead brother so much about how much you hate your own.  
  
Mark blinked and resumed eating. It wasn't exactly gourmet food, but at least Dylan could cook better than Jill. Not only did he save Mark's life, but he also treated him better than Brad or Randy did. In addition to that, he was willing to teach Mark more karate just like that.  
  
Mark's day just made a turn from the worst to probably one of the best days of his life.  
  
---  
  
Dylan was never really good at making friends. It was mostly due to the fact that other kids found it hard to relate to his interest in martial arts. His brother was also a martial arts enthusiast, but his primary focus was karate, leaving him room for other interests that weren't uncommon with other kids his age, such as soccer and surfing. Dylan on the other hand learned karate, taekwondo, praying mantis and even shaolin kung fu. Money other kids spent on baseball cards and video games, Dylan spent on buying melee weapons like nun chucks, daggers and swords, all of which he knew how to use. Dylan had his brother to bridge the gap between him and the world and when he no longer had his brother, Dylan realized that making friends in a new place would be very difficult and even more difficult if they knew why he was expelled from his old school.   
  
Although Mark dressed like a punk, Dylan considered him a blessing. Dylan saved Mark from a beating on the street and to top that off, they both shared a common interest in karate. Simply put, Mark was a friend just waiting to happen.   
  
Dylan rummaged through the moving box in the training room's closet and pulled out two sets of sparring armor. He handed the first set to Mark, telling him to put it on. He kicked the box back in the closet and put on his armor and pulled his shoulder-length hair back and tied it with a rubber band.  
  
Mark was stared at Dylan's hair. It slightly resembled Brad's when he was about their age.  
  
"Before I can teach you anything, I have to see what needs improving." Dylan smiled, "Attack me."  
  
Mark just blinked, "What?"  
  
"Attack me," Dylan repeated.  
  
"Okay," Mark shrugged.  
  
Dylan got into a ready position. Mark went into his stance and began launching attacks. As he blocked the barrage, Dylan could see that Mark wasn't really in a fully energized condition. Dylan found an opening after ducking below Mark's backhand and gave him a weak punch in the chest armor.  
  
He had to remember to go easy on his hits on Mark who isn't in top shape due to the earlier beating he had.  
  
Punch. Punch. Sidekick.  
  
The three quick strikes found home in Dylan's armor. One thing was for sure: Mark does a mean sidekick, and he knows when to use it. Maybe Dylan was going a bit too easy? Nah. He was pretty apt at controlling his blows but he decided not to take any chances at the risk of causing more serious injury to Mark.  
  
Striking back hard or not, either way, Dylan decided that this was better than practicing alone.  
  
---  
  
"Hey Randy!"  
  
Jerked out of sleep by the voice, Randy nearly jumped out of the bed. He stared a moment at Brad and Lauren as he recovered a few breaths. His chest didn't hurt as much as it did yesterday. Randy took it as a good sign that he was getting better.  
  
"Hi Lauren. Hi Brad."  
  
Brad brought the laptop and the box of disks over to Randy and put them on his younger brother's lap, "I brought the laptop and the disks so you can write your article."  
  
Randy turned the power on the machine on. "Hey thanks," He said, smiling, "Now I can check my e-mail and then get back to work on that article. Could you plug this in the wall for me?"  
  
Without a word, Brad took the phone cord and plugged it into the wall socket. The younger Taylor sensed that Brad was a bit less cheerful than usual and wondered if there was something wrong. Then he realized it.  
  
"Where's Mark? Is he still mad?" Randy asked while he logged on the Internet.  
  
Brad took one of his deep breaths, "I don't know."  
  
Lauren cut in, "Randy, Mark's missing. He didn't come to school."  
  
"What!? Do Mom and Dad know about this?!"  
  
Brad just shook his head.  
  
"Do you think he..." Randy paused, trying hard to bring himself to say it, "... ran away?"  
  
Brad shrugged.   
  
Randy just went blank for a moment, trying to think where Mark could have gone. He shook his head in disbelief, and guilt. It was his fault if Mark ran away. He was the one always teasing him.  
  
Randy looked back at his computer screen, at his e-mail.  
  
"Oh no."  
  
--- 


	7. A Full Circle?

Someone on Mark's Side  
by Tie-B  
  
Chapter VII  
  
Disclaimer: Aside from the fictional character Dylan, I don't own anything in this fic.   
  
---  
  
"Then you step here, catch the leg as it goes down and then you step forward and push it up," Dylan explained as he pushed Mark's leg up and forward to send him off balance.  
  
Dylan let go of the leg, "Now you try."  
  
He then proceeded to launch a frontal kick with his right leg at Mark, who made a diagonal step with his left leg, avoiding the kick. As Dylan's leg came down, Mark caught it from beneath. He pushed it up and brought his right leg forward in a lunge.  
  
"Good," Dylan seemed impressed, "You know Mark, you're a fast learner."  
  
"Thanks," Mark smiled as he let go of Dylan's foot.  
  
"We'd better get you home. Your parents might be worried," Dylan suggested.  
  
Mark was disappointed. At least part of him was. He didn't want to leave. Dylan was being a great friend and Mark wanted to learn more from him, but he didn't want to dismiss the fact that Jill might let him back in karate class if he explained the bruises on his face and the scratches on his hands.  
  
Mark agreed. Both boys took off their armor and stuffed it back in the box. Their shirts were drenched in the sweat of nearly three hours of practice.  
  
"We should change. It's getting pretty cold outside," Dylan mentioned. Of course, Mark didn't have any spare shirts with him. Dylan would have to let Mark borrow a shirt for today. He remembered having a black shirt too large for his size given to him as a present by his uncle. Mark could use that.  
  
Dylan went up to his room and Mark followed. He searched his closet for the shirt and handed it to Mark, "I think that's about your size. It's your color too."  
  
"Hey, thanks," Mark replied, grateful he didn't have to wear a primary color going back home.  
  
"Go take a shower and put some more antiseptic on your scratches. It's hard to punch with infected palms."  
  
Mark nodded, heeding his advice and went into the bathroom.  
  
Dylan just stood there for a moment, making sure Mark did as he was told. When he heard the water running, he pulled out a dark army green vest from the closet. It had hidden pockets inside made especially for small weapons. In this case, it had nun chucks. Better to be prepared this time. You'll never know whom you'll run into down the street.   
  
Dylan pulled out some more clothes and headed for the showers downstairs to clean up.  
  
---  
  
"...the school should not look at this request for more ergonomically designed chairs and table for the computer labs as an unnecessary..." Lauren dictated her contribution to the article. Randy was typing away, but his heart didn't seem to be set on writing right now.  
  
Lauren saw the glum look on Randy's face and tried to reassure him, "Don't worry Randy. I'm sure Brad will find him." She was referring to Mark. The Net Angel's main e-mail address forwards all mail sent to it to all the Net Angels so they could decide among themselves who would write the response. Randy was one of the Net Angels. He got a copy of a letter, which he knew was Mark's.  
  
Randy typed in Lauren's last statement. He really was lost in thought.  
  
"Randy!"  
  
"Huh, what?" he mumbled as he snapped out of his trance.  
  
Lauren rolled her eyes and smiled. She couldn't help but notice Randy's adorable antics even during such a time. "I said don't worry, Brad will find him."  
  
"I can't help it," Randy groaned, "Thi... This is all my fault. I keep picking on the poor guy! I've spent almost the entire day here thinking and I still can't remember saying anything nice to him in my life!" Randy paused for a breath, "Reading what he wrote to the Net Angels site makes me feel like I want him to punch me again. I didn't even know he felt that way. He's my brother. How can I be so insensitive?"  
  
The letter was so detailed. It recounted the event that started it all, Mark attacking his brothers, as well as what he felt while it happened. It also told of how much Mark hated them. Fragments of Mark's letter burned fresh in Randy's head:  
  
"They've been picking on me ever since I can remember," was the first line that came into mind. Randy couldn't remember when he started teasing and making fun of Mark either. It was just like a routine to him.   
  
"When I was a kid, they didn't like it whenever I wanted to play with them. It was like they hated me like the plague." Randy did avoid Mark like the plague. He remembered his disdain when his mom asked him to take his younger brother to the shoe store. If it weren't for Lauren's consent, Randy would never have agreed to take Mark with them.  
  
"I hate them. I don't want to apologize. I don't care if mom wouldn't let me back in karate class. That kid who beat up Jason, I'll just ask him to teach me," was the scariest part of the letter. Mark wasn't just mad at them. He hated them. In addition to that, Mark wanted to talk to someone who's been rumored to have been kicked out of his old school because of an incident where he nearly killed another student.  
  
Lauren knew the answer to Randy's question, "You've just... lost touch. You keep thinking that hanging out with him makes you look less cool. "  
  
While, Randy considered the thought Lauren fired another question his way: "Does he?"  
  
"Being found in public with someone who looks like he's going to a funeral doesn't really make you look cool," was the best defense Randy could think of.  
  
"Randy, the clothes don't make the person. It's what's inside that counts, and we both know he's really a nice guy."  
  
Lauren was right. Aside from the recent incident, Randy really couldn't remember Mark taking the initiative to perform a hostile act against him or Brad. Mark just lets everything slide, until that night when he couldn't take any more and went berserk.  
  
Randy nodded, "Yeah. He is. The goth look doesn't really reflect what he's like inside... I guess that's another reason why I pick on him."  
  
---  
  
Brad kept driving around in the Nomad searching for Mark. He was going around in circles, yet the kid was nowhere in sight. Brad decided to break his circular route and to check if Mark somehow managed to get back home without being spotted by his older brother.  
  
The Nomad rolled by the Seven Eleven. The fruitless search had tired Brad and he needed a drink. He pulled the car over and walked in the store. Brad was usually calm, but right now, the possibility of Mark being in danger was really getting to him.  
  
Lost in thought, Brad didn't see it until it was too late.  
  
"Hey! Watch it!"  
  
"OW!"  
  
He walked right into someone who was on the way to the exit. Someone familiar.  
  
"A..."  
  
"Bradley!?"  
  
"A...An...Angela?"  
  
Brad and his ex-girlfriend just stared for a moment at each other. Seeing each other again was bringing up dozens of fond memories they shared together. Brad tried to put their relationship behind him and get back to the important matter at hand.   
  
Angela on the other hand, was pretty thrilled to see Brad, but it wasn't because of their relationship but because she also received a copy of the "anonymous" Net Angel letter. Angela was able to figure out it was from Mark Patterson Taylor. Sure Mark sent the letter under an anonymous name, but he forgot to change Brad and Randy's names, which she thought was pretty careless. Another clue was the fact that some of the insults and jeers in the letter were ones Angela has heard only in the Taylor household.  
  
  
"So, like, what are you doing here?" she asked.  
  
"I'm just going to go get a drink. I could buy you one if you want."  
  
"No thanks. I just stopped by here to pick up some things," she explained as she held up a small plastic bag of assorted chocolate bars.  
  
Angela wanted to bring up the letter, but it was forbidden by the rules. She was more careful now about things that she says even on turbo warp speed speech, so she decided to try and get a helping hand in the issue another way.  
  
"So, how're your brothers, Mark and Randy?"  
  
"Randy's in the hospital for some broken ribs. He'll be out in a day or two. Mark is... missing. Have you seen him?"  
  
The situation was worse than Angela thought. A simple Net Angel letter wouldn't be enough help for this problem.  
  
"No, I haven't seen him. How long has he been missing? Is he in trouble? I could, like, help you look for him if you want."  
  
"Thanks Angela. I've been looking all day and I think I could use all the help I can get." Brad had gotten used to Angela's rapid fire, but the Seven Eleven clerk on the other hand gave her an odd look.  
  
---  
  
Dylan walked Mark home just to make sure he wouldn't run into more trouble with the three drunks they dealt with earlier. He was wearing the vest and where he had his weapon safely tucked inside. Even Mark didn't know about it.  
  
"Dylan?" he heard the taller kid's voice.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"How'd you get so good at fighting?"  
  
Dylan found the question a bit funny. He didn't think of himself as a good fighter. He just loved martial arts. It was a hobby that doubled as something for his own protection. He had always used it for self-defense, except for that incident that got him booted out. That was the only time he used it for revenge.  
  
"It's not fighting, it's martial arts," he corrected, "I just enjoy what I do. I also used to practice a lot with my brother."  
  
Dylan's brother was gone now. Mark figured that Dylan was eager to teach him karate in hopes that he'll have someone to practice with. Mark slightly felt that he was being used, but then again, he wanted to be taught anyway. It was a win-win situation.  
  
"Hey, we could practice together again sometime," he offered. Dylan just nodded in response.  
  
The sky was getting a bit dark. The two were already nearly halfway to the Taylor home and so far, they haven't been intercepted by any drunks, punks or whatsoever. Dylan wasn't about to let his guard down though. Paranoia is often the best defense.  
  
"Why was Jason mad at you anyway?"  
  
"On my first day in Lakeside, I saw Jason smoking crack in the bathroom."  
  
Crack? Mark remembered that time Brad was caught keeping drugs in the yard. Maybe he was keeping them for Jason?  
  
"Then what?"  
  
"I told his girlfriend," Dylan managed to say with a grin, "A girl with a bright future like Jessica shouldn't hang out with a loser like Jason."  
  
Mark was stunned. Dylan clearly liked meddling at things he knew he could set straight.  
  
The feeling of something whipping against his leg made Mark look down at his feet. His shoelace was undone. He simply bent down to tie it up. Dylan stopped to wait for him to finish. As Mark got back up, he noticed something in Dylan's vest.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
Dylan pulled out the nun chucks, "Just something I brought in case we attract more trouble."  
  
Mark's eyes widened and a smile appeared on his face, "Wow! You actually use those?"  
  
Dylan nodded and did a short demonstration. Nothing fancy, just a few loops and back.  
  
"You think you could teach me some of that sometime?"  
  
"Yeah. You could borrow these for practice if you want to," Dylan said, handing the weapon to Mark.  
  
"Cool! Thanks."  
  
Dylan stepped back a few paces as Mark started flailing the weapon around, trying to imitate Dylan's demo.  
  
"You may want to be a bit careful with that..." Dylan cringed as Mark hit himself in the head.  
  
"Owww!" Mark groaned as he clutched his head. He looked so much like the Tool Man when he hits his head.  
  
"Are... you okay?"  
  
"Yeah... I'm fine," Mark handed the nun chucks back while still clutching his head with his other hand.  
  
Mark continued to walk while rubbing his head. The pair rounded the corner and passed the Seven Eleven where a familiar voice boomed at them, "Mark! Get away from him!" That's when Dylan felt something ram into him. Something big and solid.  
  
Brad's tackle knocked the small Dylan down to the floor. Mark turned around and was surprised to see Brad rush at him and grab his arm, "Come on man! Let's get out of here." Brad pulled his youngest brother up to the Nomad, where Angela was waiting for them in the driver's seat. She hit the gas as soon as Brad and Mark got inside and slammed the door.  
  
Dylan got up in time to see Brad drag Mark into the car, before the Nomad careened down the street. He was taken by surprise, and he just stood there wondering what that was all about.  
  
Thinking about it, he realized that Brad must have been standing in the Seven Eleven when he saw Mark, bruised and clutching his head pass by. Then Brad saw him, Dylan Hunter, famous for getting booted out of school for nearly killing another student, holding a pair of nun chucks in his hand, following Mark.  
  
Dylan managed to laugh at the whole misunderstood situation and forgave Brad's rude tackle. Dylan understood that Brad was just protecting Mark like a big brother should.  
  
Dylan sighed. He stuffed the nun chucks back in his vest and started back home.  
  
---  
  
Angela could drive as fast as she talks. The Nomad was in the Taylor garage in absolutely no time at all.  
  
Mark got out of the car and entered the house, Brad and Angela following behind him. Mark abruptly turned around and yelled at Brad, "What the hell was that all about?!"  
  
"Woah! Easy! I just saved your life back there," Brad arrogantly explained.  
  
Mark was dumbfounded. "Save my life? From what?!"  
  
"From Dylan Hunter."  
  
Mark was even more confused now. "What are you talking about? Dylan's my friend."  
  
"If he's your friend, then why do you have that bruise on your face?"  
  
Mark finally understood that Brad thought Dylan was beating Mark up. "He didn't do this! I was beat up by some drunks on the way to school and he helped me! I can't believe you would accuse someone like that!"  
  
Angela cut in, "Mark, listen: Dylan Hunter was kicked out of his old school because he like, nearly killed another student in a fight. The guy was like, sent to the emergency room. Brad was just trying to help you back there because he thought you were like, in trouble."  
  
Mark had a hard time to take in the information about his friend. It turned out that Dylan was actually hiding something from him. Still, that didn't give Brad any right to mess with Mark's social life by knocking down his friends and pulling him out of their company. Angrily, Mark turned to Brad and yelled, "I can't believe you! You assume too much! I can't believe I'm actually related to someone as stupid as you!"  
  
Brad had pretty much ruined Mark's day. Mark quickly headed upstairs before anyone could say anything.   
  
Angela and Brad looked at each other. They couldn't believe it. Instead of setting things right, they ended up doing more damage.  
  
---  
  
You really didn't think I was going to let this end with a simple apology did you?  
  
"Empires rise and fall, but evil is eternal."  
  
.:Brad and Randy shoot a bad look at Tie-B, Mark gives a "huh?" look while Lauren slaps her forehead:.  
  
No wait, wrong quote.  
  
...  
  
Ah screw it. 


	8. Eye of the Storm

Someone on Mark's Side  
by Tie-B  
  
Chapter VIII  
  
Disclaimer: Aside from the fictional character Dylan and that girl Jessica, I don't own anything in this fic. I don't own any of the celebrities who made cameos in Mark's daydream either.  
  
Ugh. I can't believe some typos actually got through the spell and grammar check back in Chapter 7. They should be fixed now. Thanks goes out to those who notified me.  
  
I'm sorry if this chapter took too long to finish. I've been feeling pretty tired lately. No, I don't have a lump in my neck.   
  
Oh yeah, Happy Holidays to all you who celebrate.   
  
---  
  
Mark left. Brad wanted to follow him upstairs to talk to apologize, but there was no reaching Mark when he was in his room playing that loud music. Angela decided to talk to Brad about what she thought of the situation.  
  
"This is bad. How were we like, supposed to know that Dylan was actually his friend? From where we stood, it looked like he was about to attack Mark."  
  
"Yeah. I messed up big time didn't I? Still, I don't trust that Dylan guy. I think I should call Randy and Lauren at the hospital to tell them what happened," Brad picked up the phone and dialed. "Hello, umm... yeah, Randy Taylor's room please."  
  
Angela decided to play dumb, "So why is Randy in the hospital?"  
  
Brad didn't want to talk about it, but he knew Angela well enough to open up. "Mark punched him in the chest and broke his ribs. Mark got fed up with being picked on all the time."  
  
Angela nodded as if she didn't know about it.  
  
"Randy!"  
  
"Hey Brad."  
  
Brad was about to speak and tell his bro that Mark was okay, but another voice came on the phone, "Brad! Did you find Mark?"  
  
It was Jill. She sound awfully worried. Randy probably told her about Mark's disappearance when she came over.   
  
"Yeah mom, he's upstairs."  
  
"What happened? Is he alright?"  
  
"He's fine. He just ran into some drunks on the way to school. He looks hurt, but some kid helped him out."  
  
"Oh, thank God!" Jill exclaimed. Brad could hear Randy's voice in the background, "Mom, I believe Brad wanted to talk to me."  
  
Jill surrendered the phone and Randy's voice was on the line again, "Is he still mad?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah. I screwed up. Mark ran into some drunks on the way to school. Dylan Hunter helped him out. I tackled Dylan Hunter because I thought he was beating up Mark."  
  
"Gee, Mark probably thinks you're such a big moron now," Randy quipped. Brad ignored it. He wasn't in the mood to get into a word fight with Randy. He just decided to change the topic, "So when are you getting out of the hospital?"  
  
"The doctor says I can get out of here by tomorrow, but he also says that I still need to get some rest."  
  
"That's great! You'd be back here and all. Maybe we can patch things up with Mark then?"  
  
"If he doesn't try to hit me again, maybe we will."  
  
---  
  
Lying in his bed, Mark couldn't believe that Dylan didn't bother to get back at Brad for knocking him down. What he found harder to believe was that Brad dragged Mark away like that. That was not only annoying because it was shooting first and asking questions later, but it was also embarrassing.   
  
Mark heard a knock on the door. It was probably Brad. He ignored it and just turned his music louder.  
  
"Mark? Are you okay?"  
  
The voice was female though. It wasn't Brad, it was Angela. Mark concluded that Brad didn't really care about him.  
  
Mark turned down the volume, "What do you want?"  
  
"I want to talk to you. What else?"  
  
"Is Brad with you?"  
  
"No."  
  
Mark thought it was okay to let Angela talk. Besides, what did she know anyway?  
  
Mark let Angela in; "If he sent you up here to apologize for him, tell him it's not going to work."  
  
Angela was still pretending, but she was going to make a discreet attempt to fix things. "Why are you mad at him anyway? I don't think he like, meant what he did back there. He was just looking out for you."  
  
Mark was tired of his brother's friends trying to stick their noses in what goes on between the three of them. He practically yelled at Angela, "It goes way beyond that! They're always picking on me! They hate me and now they even tell me not to hang out with the people I want! They have no right to do that! Why don't you all just leave me alone!?"  
  
Mark obviously wasn't one for talking right now. Angela figured that trying to talk to him was the wrong move. Maybe she really should just stick to writing a Net Angels letter. It worked the last time when she tried to talk a girl into ditching her boyfriend after she found out he was using drugs.  
  
"You're right. I'm sorry for bothering you. Bye."  
  
Angela was ready to walk out the door when she heard Mark's voice.  
  
"Wait."  
  
Maybe she was going to get somewhere down this path after all.  
  
"What you said about Dylan, is it true?"  
  
"Of course it is. Everyone in school knows about it. Well, everyone except maybe you. That's why most of us stay away from him. Tell me something: you said he's your friend, is he a nice guy?"  
  
Why Angela would ask such a question was beyond Mark, but he answered anyway. "He treats me a lot better than Brad or Randy do."  
  
"No, I mean is he a nice guy?"  
  
Mark wondered what on earth she was driving at. "He helped me out when I was being beaten up on the street. He even took me to his place to help clean my scratches and wounds. Is that nice enough?" he sarcastically asked.  
  
Angela got dreamy eyed, "Cool! I always thought he was like, cute, but I was a bit scared of him. So now that you tell me he's a nice guy, I'll probably ask him out. Thanks Mark!"  
  
Mark's jaw dropped. Angela wasn't usually one for younger boys. This was weird, yet funny. Mark felt a smile tug on his lips, but he tried to stop it, "I can't believe you."  
  
"Hey, you're the one who told me that he's nicer than Brad!" Angela winked.  
  
The remark managed to pull a short laugh out of Mark. As Angela left the room, she reassured herself that even though she didn't completely fix the problem, she managed to at least cheer up Mark. She continued downstairs and wondered if Brad could give her a lift home.  
  
---  
  
Mark woke up the next day. Saturday. Mark glanced at the clock. It was still early: eight AM. Brad was probably about to leave for soccer practice. Mark would usually leave with him so Brad could drop him off at karate class, but the situation was different now.   
  
Mark decided to sleep another thirty minutes just to make sure Brad had already left the house before he went down.  
  
---  
  
Thirty minutes later, Mark hurried down. He didn't dry up properly and was still a bit damp from the showers. He didn't find anyone downstairs. Mom and Dad must have gone to visit Randy again; He gets all the attention. Mark decided to check his e-mail. Maybe the Net Angel team from school had already written a reply by now.  
  
Scrolling down the mouse, Mark ran his eyes over his mail quickly. There was lots of spam. Mark doesn't really check his e-mail a lot, so the accumulated junk was nearly overwhelming. Mark started putting the check marks beside so that they could be deleted. As he went down the list he saw an e-mail from Randy. It was dated yesterday.  
  
Mark paused and pondered.  
  
Click. Mark placed a check on the box. He didn't want to hear anything from Randy. Not one more insult, not anything. Not even an apology. He was sick of Randy.  
  
No Net Angel letter. Just a bunch of advertisements and other garbage. With one click of a button, Mark deleted Randy's mail along with the spam.   
  
---  
  
Dylan walked into the karate gym. He had planned to come there to sign up for lessons earlier during the week, but he wasn't able to find the time.  
  
As Dylan looked around, he saw that promotions were taking place. He was half-expecting Mark to be there, but Mark did say that his parents made him discontinue and it occurred to Dylan that he failed to bother asking why. At first he thought it was due to financial reasons, but he remembered that Mark's dad was the Toolman, so it was unlikely that they didn't have cash to pay for lessons.  
  
"Can I help you?" the instructor asked.  
  
Dylan nodded, "I'm here for lessons sir."  
  
"I see. Are you a beginner or do you already have previous experience in Karate?"  
  
"Brown belt sir," Dylan replied confidently.  
  
"Ah," the teacher seemed impressed. Kids of Dylan's age were usually only violets or blues. "Well, you'll have to go to the office room over there and fill up some forms. Do you have your uniform?"  
  
Usual response. A simple nod.  
  
"The locker rooms are over there," the instructor pointed to the far end of the place, "Come back here afterwards and you may join the class. There is only one other brown belt here," he pointed again, this time to a brunette girl, probably seventeen or eighteen. Definitely a senior and definitely a familiar face to Dylan.  
  
Again, Dylan nodded. He thanked the instructor before heading to the gym's office. So, Jessica was a brown belt in Mark's karate class. At least Dylan could approach someone even if Mark wasn't there.  
  
---  
  
Randy was getting ready to leave the hospital. The pain in his chest had subsided. He still needed to avoid excess physical activity, but that really wasn't much of a problem because he wasn't really much of the active type. That was Brad. Randy was the smart one. Randy didn't know what Mark was aside from annoying dork, which was a title he was trying to abolish in his head.   
  
Jill, not saying much aside from the usual greeting, accompanied him down the elevator, to the lobby and out. It looked like she had a lot in mind. She was probably contemplating whether or not to send Mark back to karate class after he was beat up on the street. "Mark looked pretty badly beaten up," she told her middle son, "There was this huge bruise on his face." Apparently, she brought her car, the Austin Healey. Randy guessed it was because Brad took the Nomad to practice.  
  
In his head, Randy sorted out what he needed to do when he got home. First things first was to settle things with Mark. Randy sent him a much-deserved apology through e-mail, which he hoped Mark didn't simply ignore and delete. In case he did, there was always his Net Angel letter, which he still hadn't sent because he was still double-checking to make sure he wouldn't accidentally reveal his identity.   
  
Randy was still a bit sleepy. He usually slept until ten during weekends. As the Healey traveled along the busy street, his eyes weighed heavily and before he even knew it, he dozed off to sleep.  
  
---  
  
Mark was sitting on the couch, watching a behind the scenes footage of some new upcoming movies. Fifteen minutes later, he drifted into daydreaming of writing and directing his own films someday, and even winning an Academy Award.   
  
The couch was no longer a couch, but a seat reserved for Mark in the audience of the Oscar Awards. Christy Carlson Romano and Taran Noah Smith were presenting the award for Best Director. The nominees were all shown on the huge screen, including the one Mark directed. Christy spoke as soon as the cheers died down, "And the winner for best director is..."  
  
Drum roll. Mark shifted in his seat as Christy and Taran opened the envelope.  
  
"Mark Taylor!" Taran announced.  
  
The crowd burst into cheer and applause as Mark headed up to the stage. He gave Christy a polite peck on the cheek and held out his hand to shake Taran's. Before the young actor could shake hands with him, Mark heard...  
  
A knock on the door?  
  
Mark was snatched out of his daydream. The how he was watching was almost over now. He looked behind him as another set of knocks hit the door. Mark grumbled as he got up, clearly upset that his fantasy was interrupted just as he was about to thank Brad and Randy for nothing in his speech, and proceeded to open the door. Who on earth could it be anyway? Brad was still at practice, the Toolman went to work, Jill was visiting Randy who was in the hospital, and their neighbor Wilson doesn't usually cross over to the other side of the fence.   
  
The door swung wide open to reveal Angela.  
  
"Uhh... Brad's not here," Mark immediately told her.  
  
Angela rolled her eyes, "Hi Mark. I'm not looking for Brad. We broke up remember?"  
  
"So, why are you here?"  
  
"I need your help," she implored.  
  
That was even more surprising to Mark. "My help? With what?"  
  
Angela really wanted to hit two birds with one stone. She wanted Mark to introduce her to Dylan and at the same time, she wanted to have a long chat with Mark so she can talk him into forgiving his brothers on the way there. It was a clever plan, really.  
  
"Could you, like, introduce me to Dylan?"  
  
Mark's jaw dropped again. He couldn't believe Angela was serious about hooking up with a younger guy. Maybe she was really that desperate?  
  
With Mark in stunned silence, Angela spoke again explaining her plan, "I have the car parked over there. We could go to his place and you can explain to him what really, like, happened last night with Brad and you can, like, hook me up with him."  
  
Mark pondered on the whole idea. He looked to the TV and saw that the show he was watching was over and the credits were already rolling. Why not? He didn't have anything else to do anyway.  
  
---  
  
Yes. I put Mark Taylor and Taran Smith on the same scene, within inches of each other. I messed with the fabric of time and space. You can call me insane now. 


End file.
